Thomas Davis

(14 October 1814 – 16 September 1845 / Mallow / County Cork / Ireland)

Thomas Davis Poems

1. A Nation Once Again 8/1/2012
2. A Song For The Irish Militia 8/1/2012
3. Blind Mary 8/1/2012
4. Celts And Saxons 8/1/2012
5. Clare's Dragoons 8/1/2012
6. Fontenoy 8/1/2012
7. Lament For The Death Of Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill 8/1/2012
8. Love And War 8/1/2012
9. My Grave 8/1/2012
10. My Land 8/1/2012
11. Nationality 8/1/2012
12. O'Brien Of Ara 8/1/2012
13. O'Connell's Statue 8/1/2012
14. Oh! The Marriage 8/1/2012
15. Orange And Green Will Carry The Day 8/1/2012
16. Our Own Again 8/1/2012
17. Self-Reliance 8/1/2012
18. The Battle Eve Of The Brigade 8/1/2012
19. The Boatman Of Kinsale 8/1/2012
20. The Burial 8/1/2012
21. The Dugannon Convention 8/1/2012
22. The Flower Of Finae 8/1/2012
23. The Geraldines 5/10/2012
24. The Girl Of Dunbwy 8/1/2012
25. The Green Above The Red 8/1/2012
26. The Lost Path 8/1/2012
27. The Penal Days 8/1/2012
28. The Right Road 8/1/2012
29. The Sack Of Baltimore 8/1/2012
30. The Surprise Of Cremona 8/1/2012
31. The Vow Of Tipperary 8/1/2012
32. The West's Asleep 8/1/2012
33. Tipperary 8/1/2012
34. Tone's Grave 8/1/2012
35. We Must Not Fail 8/1/2012

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Best Poem of Thomas Davis


Thrice, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column failed,
And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed;
For town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery,
And well they swept the English ranks and Dutch auxiliary.
As vainly, through De Barri's wood, the British soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove them back, diminished, and dispersed.
The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye,
And ordered up his last reserve, his latest chance to try,
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, how fast his generals ride!
And mustering come his ...

Read the full of Fontenoy

Blind Mary

There flows from her spirit such love and delight,
That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light-
As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show
Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow.

Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times,
As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes!
And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends,
And the starlight, as love, that not changes nor ends.

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